


The Chance to Know

by sarahandthegraveyardshift



Series: The Wish Our Hearts Make [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Husbands, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, some serious baby fever, these boys I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahandthegraveyardshift/pseuds/sarahandthegraveyardshift
Summary: “I'm scared,” he proclaims at last, and his soulmates tense, ready to comfort and protect. “I'm scared of carrying these little lives inside me and being constantly hyper-aware of every danger I could potentially be putting them in. I'm scared that once they're born, I won't be good enough for them. I'm scared that I'll mess them up, and they'll hate me for the rest of their lives.”[Stiles and his soulmates make a decision about the pregnancy...Obviously not everything is going to go as planned.]
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Wish Our Hearts Make [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611778
Comments: 8
Kudos: 224





	1. A Quick Nap...

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I am SO sorry for not updating! My goodness, I meant to have this one up weeks ago. Things have just been so frustratingly crazy...I moved, and then all this virus bullshit blew up, and I'm still working (very closely with the public, so I'm really trying my best to stay healthy and quarantine on my days off, but NO ONE is taking this seriously, and now everything is supposed to open back up again, but there isn't going to be much of a difference because, again, NO ONE is TAKING this SERIOUSLY, and we have already been so busy anyway).
> 
> Ya'll. Please take care of yourselves. Especially if you are working face-to-face with people. I'm so tired of having to tell GROWN ADULTS to stand on the stickers we put on the floor so people can keep a 6-foot distance from each other. Honestly...
> 
> Sorry for the rant. You look amazing, by the way. I hope your day is going well!!!

Stiles watches Chris pace their living room from his spot on the couch. He's burrowed into Peter's side, and the werewolf has a warm arm behind him, fingers rubbing circles into the base of the young man's neck. The hunter stops, turns towards the two with his hands on his hips and a pinched look on his face, then expels a frustrated huff and continues pacing again. 

He's done this several times already. Stiles is getting bored.

“Let him think, love,” Peter murmurs when the teen takes a breath to say something. Stiles sighs and leans his head back, closing his eyes and listening to Chris's boots on the carpet. One-two-three-four-turn. One-two-three-four-turn. One-two-three-four-turn. Pause. One-two-three-four-turn.

Chris cycles through this rhythm a few more times before finally speaking. “I don't like it.”

Stiles opens his eyes and raises his head, blinking a few times sleepily. He'd been halfway to dozing. “Yeah. You've said that already. A lot.”

“Three days is a long time, Stiles,” Peter chimes in, and the younger man purses his lips.

Three days is how long it will take Stiles's body to change, to become _birth-compatible_ , as Deaton had put it. And three days is how long Stiles will be in a magically-induced coma so that he doesn't have to experience the excruciating pain of his guts physically rearranging themselves.

Three days, and then Stiles will be able to bear his soulmates' children. 

“It's not _that_ long,” Stiles mutters, and Peter squeezes his arm. 

“Maybe not for you,” the werewolf says, pressing a kiss to Stiles's temple, “but for your husbands who won't be able to do anything but stand around and watch you sleep...”

Stiles gets it. He does. He'd feel awful if it was Peter or Chris having to be put into a coma. But three days is a measly amount of time compared to the lives he'll be able to create, the children they will have when it's all said and done.

“I'll be in a hospital the whole time, monitored day and night,” he recites—because he's said it several times already. “Deaton said that this is the thing we should be _least_ worried about!”

“Which is why it's worrying me more,” Chris argues, beginning to pace again. “This is a big deal for us, baby. And if this is what we're supposed to be least worried about, I can't imagine what it's going to be like later on.”

“Well,” Stiles says, his voice going quiet like he knows his next words won't exactly convince them but it's worth a shot, “at least we get to have a lot of sex after it's over, right?” He smiles hopefully, making Peter chuckle and Chris roll his eyes heavenward. 

“I'm pretty sure I remember Deaton saying to wait about a week after you wake up,” the werewolf counters with a soft, concerned smile. “He said you'll be a little sore at first, which I don't like either.”

Stiles groans and stands from the couch, pointing to the spot beside Peter as he looks at Chris. “Sit down.” The hunter gives him an agitated look but sits nonetheless, and Stiles takes his place across from the couch, staring at his men. “I...” He falters as he looks between them, his shoulders slumping. All the determination he had before suddenly flees, and his limbs feel like bare tree branches—stiff and awkward and just this side of too vulnerable. 

“I'm scared,” he proclaims at last, and his soulmates tense, ready to comfort and protect. “I'm scared shitless of being asleep for three days and waking up completely different. But...” He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “But I'm more scared of carrying these little lives inside me and being constantly hyper-aware of every danger I could potentially be putting them in. I'm scared that once they're born, I won't be good enough for them. I'm scared that I'll mess them up, and they'll hate me for the rest of their lives.”

Chris and Peter do stand then, bracketing the younger man between them and holding him closely. Stiles doesn't realize he's trembling until his men are rubbing their hands up and down his arms, his sides. 

“Baby, you're going to be an amazing father,” the hunter says soothingly, one hand smoothing his hair away from his face. “All new parents have those fears. It's okay to be scared of those things. It means you care about what kind of parent you're going to be.”

“I know,” Stiles huffs into the man's shoulder, pulling back slightly and giving him a pointed look. “It's okay to be scared,” he repeats Chris's words pointedly, squeezing Peter's hand as he looks over his shoulder at the other man, “but if we don't try...we'll never get the chance to know.” He turns back to Chris, his throat constricting as he barely manages to whisper, “I want a chance.”

Chris and Peter hold him for a long time. And when the trembling stops, his men have their decision.

0 o 0 o 0

“We'll be right here when you wake up, sweetheart, okay?” Peter assures, his fingers running through Stiles's hair as he stares down at the young man. Stiles lies in a hospital bed, looking up at his husbands as his stomach twists into knots. He tries to smile, but his lips won't move in the way he needs them to. He's pretty sure he's grimacing at them.

Chris chuckles despite the nervous look on his face. “Everything is going to be fine, baby. It'll feel like no time has passed at all. Just a quick nap.”

The younger man's head jerks in a nod. “Okay.” His gaze shifts as a nurse approaches and begins to inject something into his IV. She explained what it is, but he's already forgotten. Something to make him sleep before Deaton and his team come to do the heavy spell-casting. 

Peter places a hand on Stiles's face and gently turns his head away from the sight. “We love you, Stiles,” he says, leaning down and kissing him sweetly. 

When he pulls away, Chris is there to kiss him as well. “We love you so much,” the hunter affirms against his lips.

“Love you, too,” Stiles says. He blinks, and the world blurs. He blinks again, and it's harder to keep his eyes open. “Tired now,” he mumbles, and his eyes fall shut. He drifts. He sighs. 

He sleeps. 

0 o _Five Days Later_ o 0

“You said three days,” Peter growls into the druid's face, tensing when Chris slides a hand onto his shoulder. 

Deaton nods in calm understanding. “Three days is the average,” he explains, looking at each man in turn. They're outside Stiles's hospital room. The nurse at the nearest desk is watching them carefully, hand near the phone in case she needs to alert security. “As we all know, Stiles is far from being average. I've seen the change take up to a week in some circumstances. It all depends on the individual.”

“This would have been nice to know beforehand,” Chris says tightly, keeping his tone low. 

The druid sighs and nods again. “I am very sorry for that. I assumed with Stiles being so young and in good health, the three-day average would apply to him.” Deaton glances into Stiles's hospital room. “But his vitals are steady, and everything is progressing as it should. Stiles is perfectly healthy. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he woke within the next few hours.”

“And then we can take him home?” Peter asks—demands, really. His wolf has been restless since they brought Stiles to this sterile place. He doesn't like the smell. Or the sounds. Or the people. He wants his mate safe and comfortable in their home. Being on edge for the last five days has exhausted almost every ounce of strength he has, but he refuses to relax until Stiles is allowed out of here.

“After a checkup and an ultrasound, he'll be discharged. I'd like to see him back in a week, just to make sure he's doing well,” Deaton says, his tone clinical but not uncaring. 

Peter begins to whine low in his throat, but Chris takes his hand, saying, “We understand. We'll sit with him until he wakes.”

The druid smiles like every doctor smiles when having to deal with difficult patients or family. “Of course. I'll be nearby if you have any other questions.”

Peter grouses about the man for the next fifteen minutes. Chris lets him, only half-listening as he lets his mind wander. He doesn't like the hospital any more than the werewolf does, but, unlike Peter, his growing displeasure is buried beneath a stoic expression and clipped words. 

“Chris?” Peter asks, and the hunter shifts in his chair. 

“Hm?” he hums in question, his attention still fully on Stiles. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the consistent tick of the heart monitor, the dripping of the IV.

Peter sighs, giving up his tirade in favor of watching their young husband as well. “He's too still.” Chris grunts in confirmation of the statement. “He's always moving, even in his sleep.”

“Especially in his sleep,” the hunter replies with a small, fond smile. “Barely leaves us any room in bed.”

“We need a bigger one,” Peter huffs. 

Chris shifts again in his seat and fixes his gaze on a point on the wall across from him. “We need a nursery.”

The men share a decisive look before falling into silence. Twenty minutes tick by with only Stiles's soft breathing to fill the quiet.

“The guest bedroom would make a good nursery,” Peter says finally. 

Chris nods in agreement. “Big enough for two cribs.”

“How much baby-proofing do you think we'll have to do?”

The hunter huffs and sits back tiredly. “The house is already Stiles-proofed. There's not much else we'd have to do.”

Peter laughs and reaches forward to squeeze Chris's knee. “You should sleep. I'll keep an eye on him.”

“You sure?” the man says, and Peter grabs his hand, ushering him to the recliner in the corner of the room.

“I'm sure. Get some rest, love.” He kisses Chris, watching as the man's eyes slowly fall shut before he finds a blanket and throws it over his husband. Peter stretches and sighs, then sits.

And waits.

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles wakes, and there's magic tingling in his fingertips. It's like static, like lightning. It crackles up his arms and legs, nestles into his belly, where it sits and sparks and hurts. 

And hurts. 

And _hurts_. 

He's dragged into consciousness little by little, and only when the intensity of the pain is a roaring in his ears does he open his eyes.

0 o 0 o 0

The lights flicker. 

One.   
Two. 

Peter clenches his jaw and reaches for Chris, the hunter snoring softly in the recliner. 

The lights flicker. 

One.  
Two. 

“Christopher,” Peter says, his tone thin but even. Chris wakes immediately, his training far too ingrained to allow him to fall into more than a light doze. “Something's happening.”

Chris's gaze goes straight to Stiles as he stands, watching the young man's fingers twitch and stretch taut and then clench into fists. 

The lights flicker. 

One.   
Two. 

“Go get Deaton,” Chris warns, stepping back from the hospital bed as those fingers, those hands, those fists begin to spark. Sizzle. Burn. 

Peter runs. 

The lights flicker. 

One.   
Two.

Stiles draws in a tight breath. His eyes open. 

The room goes dark. 

Chris can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, can hear the stuttering in his breathing. “Stiles?” he says, and the name breaks in his throat. 

The lights flicker.

One.   
Two.

Stiles is gone. 

“Stiles!”


	2. ...An Abrupt Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything hurts-hurts-hurts. He can't remember why there's so much pain, and that, more than anything, is what scares him. There's wind in his hair, the cold making goosebumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore. 
> 
> He wants Chris and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo!! Here it is!!

Stiles bites his hand to hold back another sob as tremors wrack his body. Everything _hurts-hurts-hurts_. He can't remember why there's so much pain, and that, more than anything, is what scares him. There's wind in his hair, the cold making goosebumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore. 

He wants Chris and Peter.

0 o 0 o 0

Chris and Peter stiffen as something jolts in their chests, Deaton and the security guards with them halting their conversation. The husbands share a knowing look.

“The roof,” Peter says quietly before both men are bolting for the staircase. 

The hospital doesn't have many floors, but something in the atmosphere changes as they make their way higher. The air gets thinner, and they're gasping for breath by the time they breach the roof access door.

“Stiles?” Chris calls, his chest heaving as his gaze frantically searches the expanse. There's movement in one of the far corners, and he quickly starts towards it, jerked back suddenly when Peter grabs his arm. 

“Wait,” the werewolf breathes, the word desperate. And scared. 

Chris glaces at Peter for only a moment before returning his attention to the corner of the roof and watching carefully. Stiles is curled in on himself, whimpering and crying and shaking and...sparking. Electricity fizzles around him in angry tendrils, strobing over the distress on his face. The hairs on Chris's arms and the back of his neck stand on end. The gravel coating the rooftop shifts around them and under their feet, several small pebbles rising upward and hovering in mid-air. 

“We have to stop him,” the hunter says, trying another step and loosing an annoyed huff when Peter pulls him back again. 

“You'll get yourself killed,” the other man argues, stepping forward himself and studying their husband with a pinched expression. “I'm going to try to get to him.”

“Peter,” Chris grits out, and the werewolf looks over his shoulder, locking their gazes grimly. “Just...be careful.”

Peter smirks and starts towards the man they love more than anything.

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles hears the gravel near him shift. Footsteps. 

“Stiles?”

The young man gasps and forces his eyes open. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead, shivering strands nearly blocking his view. Beyond them, though, blurry and cautiously approaching him, is—

“P...Peter?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Peter says soothingly, taking another couple of steps and crouching down when he's within reaching distance. “Do you know what's happening? Where you are?”

Stiles tries to think, tries to remember, but the pain surges through him again, and he closes his eyes tightly and cries. “It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Peter...”

“I know,” the other man says, his voice cracking on the words. “I know, my love. I'm going to make it better, okay? I just...I need you to concentrate. I need you to try to pull your spark back inside.”

Stiles can't. He can't, there's just too much pain. He doesn't even know why. “I can't. Peter, I—”

“You can. I promise, you can. Your spark is all about belief, Stiles. I need you to believe that you can, okay? Please, just try for me.”

Stiles bites his tongue and nods quickly, breathing through the jolts of pain and letting his mind flood with the images he's trained himself to think of when he needs to make himself focus. He thinks of the day his soul mark appeared, the one that led him to his amazing husbands. He thinks of their first date on the beach and the little ice cream stand where Chris and Peter had balked at his combination of bubblegum and pistachio. He thinks of their wedding day and how many times he stepped on Chris's feet when they danced and how many times Peter pulled him away to make out in private and how many times he caught himself staring at his men, knowing how lucky he was to have them.

Stiles thinks of these things and believes he can reign in the massive power surging around himself. He draws in a deep breath, and then another, and another, each one swallowing his spark little by little until the electricity stops buzzing in his ears.

And, suddenly, there's calm. There's still pain, but it's dull. 

When Stiles opens his eyes, memories trickle into his mind. He's at the hospital. He's been asleep. He's...different.

He can feel it.

Warm hands gently cup his face, and he looks into bright blue eyes. “There you are, beautiful boy.” The black veins in the werewolf's arms make the dull ache in Stiles's abdomen disappear entirely, and he sags forward into his husband's chest. He can't fight the droop of his eyelids or the heaviness in his limbs. 

Sleep pulls him under.

0 o 0 o 0

Chris runs forward as soon as he sees Stiles slump against Peter. The werewolf stands, cradling their young husband in his arms and letting Chris check him over before they start towards the stairs. Deaton is waiting at the bottom with medical staff and healers. Peter growls at all of them when they step forward, and Deaton patiently waves them all away, allowing the werewolf to carry Stiles to his hospital room and lay him down before anyone dares touch him.

Chris practically has to hold Peter back as they hook their young husband up to various machines once again. And when they leave and only Deaton remains, it is all the werewolf can do to keep from tearing the man apart. 

“How did this happen?” he demands, his teeth sharp and his fingernails shifting into points. 

Deaton looks calm, but a twitch of his fingers lets slip his inner unease. “Stiles is—” 

Peter growls, and the sound shakes the windows in the room. Stiles jerks in his sleep but doesn't wake, and only when he settles again does the Alpha dare speak. “If you say it's because 'Stiles is special' again, I may have no choice but to rip out your throat.” 

Chris steps forward, partially blocking Peter's way to Deaton. “We know he's powerful. We've seen first-hand what he can do, and we know he's capable of so much more.” An exhausted sigh forces its way past his lips. “But we don't understand _why_ his magic is reacting this way, why this process is taking so long.”

“Why is he _still_ in so much pain?” Peter asks desperately, his voice shaking from holding back. He'd felt it— _all_ of it—when he'd drained the hurt and ache from his husband. It had almost been too much to bear himself. How Stiles managed to speak, let alone move at all, is beyond him. The werewolf could barely breathe until the last of the pain had ebbed from his bones.

The druid is quiet for several moments before looking down at Stiles and sighing heavily. “I...don't know.”

Chris clenches his jaw, and Peter turns away from the man, rubbing furiously at his face as he mutters, “Shocking.”

“I will do everything I can to find out what has happened to Stiles,” Deaton promises, but the words are of little comfort to the other men. Stiles is still lying in a hospital bed and in pain, and that is the only truth that Chris and Peter can see at the moment.

“Can we reverse it?” Chris asks bluntly, and Deaton's eyebrows raise high on his forehead.

“Chris,” Peter hisses, coming up beside the hunter and turning him until they are facing one another, “he wouldn't want that.”

“This could kill him,” Chris says sharply, fear and anger making his voice shake. “He could have died up on that roof if he hadn't called to us, and he could die at _any_ moment during this process. We knew the risks, knew something could go wrong. We should have said no.”

Peter purses his lips and turns his attention to their young husband. Stiles looks frail and small in the hospital bed, not at all the strong, brave spark they know him to be. And if he could take back their decision, knowing what they know now, he absolutely would. Except... “He still would have done this.” The werewolf finds Chris's eyes with his own and nods even as the hunter shakes his head in denial. “He would have. You know him just as well as I do, Christopher. Stiles is the most stubborn person we have ever met, and he would have stopped at nothing to do this.” 

Deaton waits a few moments before speaking again. “Reversing the process now would most certainly have consequences. Stiles, more than likely, would not survive the physical trauma, let alone the magical affects.” He holds up his hands as Chris and Peter tense, ready to demand more answers that the druid clearly doesn't have. “We have to wait and see how his body changes. As of now, he is _physically_ still fine. I know this scare has left you with doubts, but he will recover normally if we leave him to heal on his own.”

“You'll forgive us for wanting a second opinion,” Peter grits out, his hold on Chris tightening. “We'll have our own physician check him.”

Deaton nods solemnly. “Of course. I'll have the medical staff standing by with anything you need.”

He leaves, and the two men slump against one another exhaustedly. Chris guides Peter to a chair beside Stiles's bed and helps him sit. “I'll call Melissa.”

Peter nods. “Noah will want to be here, as well.”

Chris sighs. “Yes,” he says grimly, “he will.”

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles wakes slowly, breathes in the scent of antiseptic and clean sheets and wrinkles his nose. Hospitals are one of his least-favorite places. But why would he be—

The sudden rush of memories jump starts the young man's adrenalin, and his eyes fly open, only to blink furiously at the bombardment of fluorescent light. “Chris? Peter?” he tries to call, but his voice is hoarse, and the names are little more than pained squeaks to his ears. 

“Stiles?” The voice doesn't belong to either of his husbands, but he is still so, so glad to hear it. 

He squints and searches until a worried face leans into his line of sight. “Dad?”

Noah sighs heavily, his smile etched with exhaustion. “Hey, kiddo. Glad to see you awake. How do you feel?”

Stiles takes a moment to catalog every ache, every pull of muscle that doesn't quite feel right. His abdomen is on fire. “Really sore.” He winces and shuts his eyes tightly, squeezing the hand that slides into his and breathing through the pain as best he can. “Fuck, that hurts.”

He feels fingers wipe sweaty bangs from his forehead. “Okay, just breathe. Melissa went to get a nurse. They can give you some pain meds.”

Stiles breathes and breathes until his lungs start to loosen and the pain begins to ebb. He chances opening his eyes again and watches his dad smile down at him. “How long have I been out?”

Noah huffs and shakes his head as if he can't quite believe the answer he's about to give. “Almost a week, give or take, excluding the hour you disappeared.”

Stiles blinks, his eyebrows drawing together. “Disappeared?”

“According to Chris and Peter,” the older man explains, and Stiles can see the wrinkles forming on his father's forehead and around his mouth, “you up and vanished from your bed a couple days ago. No one could find you for almost an hour, and then Chris and Peter said you... _called_ to them. They got to you just in time. You were on the roof of the hospital.”

“Oh.” Stiles isn't sure what else to say. He doesn't remember that. He barely remembers coming to the hospital at all—of course, he remembers _why_ he's here, just...everything is so fuzzy. And his stomach really, really hurts. “Is that why you're here?” Noah and Melissa have been living in Texas for a few years now, enjoying an early retirement. Stiles hadn't planned on telling them—or anyone, for that matter—until he was sure everything would be okay. He didn't want to worry his dad. 

That plan is, unfortunately, out the window now, though.

“I wish you'd called me when you decided to do this,” Noah says in that tone Stiles has heard since he could understand words. 

Stiles sighs. “You would have tried to stop me.”

“I would have wanted to discuss it,” the older man amends. “Stiles, nothing would make me happier than to see you get what you want.” He runs a hand through his son's hair and smirks. “And I am far-from-opposed to grandkids, trust me. But if it means compromising your safety, I'd like at least a heads-up.”

“Sorry, pops.”

Noah leans down and kisses Stiles's forehead. “Don't be sorry. Just...let me know what's going on next time so I don't have to worry myself gray.” 

Stiles raises an eyebrow, giving the man's hair a quick glance. “No offense, but I think that ship sailed a while ago.”

Noah scoffs, but before he can respond, a team of nurses swarms into the room, watched carefully by Melissa's sharp eye. She meets Stiles gaze, and her face softens immediately. 

“Stiles, honey, how do you feel?” She stands beside Noah and puts her hand over the one holding Stiles's. 

“I'm okay,” he says, grunting as one of the nurses gently prods at his abdomen. “Where are Chris and Peter?”

“We sent them home,” Melissa says, her tone implying that the young man's husbands were definitely not given a choice in the matter. “They've been here for days, and they needed some time to rest.”

“And shower,” Noah mutters, quieting when Melissa jabs him in the side with her elbow. 

Stiles chuckles, immediately regretting the action when his stomach jolts with pain. He grunts and shuts his eyes tightly. 

“Just one more minute, sweetie, then we'll up your pain meds,” a nurse to his left says, checking his IV and entering information into the computer nearby.

Stiles nods and lets his thoughts drift, listening as Melissa tells him an ultrasound tech is on the way to make sure everything is okay. He definitely doesn't feel okay, but then again his insides are completely different now. He can have children. He can have Chris and Peter's children. 

That thought alone causes a warmth to rush through his veins and settle in his stomach, flushing out the pain and ache there. He sighs and relaxes into the bed, letting his limbs go heavy.

“Stiles?” Noah asks cautiously, and the young man squeezes his father's hand. 

“I'm okay,” Stiles slurs tiredly. “Just gonna sleep now.”

He's falling into darkness before his father can respond. 

0 o 0 o 0

Chris and Peter are there when Stiles wakes again. He feels more alert, the pain from before less than a dull ache. He grunts quietly as he shifts in the bed, and his husbands are at his side immediately. 

“Stiles?”

“Don't move, baby.”

“How much pain are you in?”

A few threads of black fade up Peter's arm, disappearing almost as quickly as they appear. 

Stiles smiles and sighs, squeezing the hands in his contently. “I'm okay. I feel fine, I promise.” The older men visibly relax, and Chris runs his fingers through Stiles's hair. “So I took a little field trip to the roof, huh?” 

Peter huffs with an exasperated laugh at the same time that Chris sighs in exhaustion. 

“Sorry. I know I put you both through a lot.”

Chris's fingers trail down the side of his face. It feels nice. Warm. Safe. “That is probably the most scared I've been in a long time.”

The younger man raises an eyebrow. “More scared than when that wendigo abducted me?”

“That time a selkie dragged you into the lake,” Peter chimes in helpfully.

“Or when the fae turned Peter human,” Stiles continues. “And let's not forget the time a centuries-old fox demon possessed me.”

Chris covers Stiles's mouth and holds up a hand to stop Peter from continuing the morbid game. “Yes,” he says simply, sincerely, and the single word causes the amusement to ebb from Stiles's face. “Yes, Stiles. I was scared those times, too.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, an unfamiliar emotion crossing his face. “But this was the first time I honestly thought we might lose you.” The hunter opens his eyes again, and they shine with tears. Stiles recognizes the look now— _shame_. “I thought you were going to die. And...” He swallows hard, and both men take his hands, staying silent. 

Chris Argent is not an expressive man. The notion that he was _allowed_ to have feelings was beaten out of him before his tenth birthday. Hunters have no use for emotions. Peter and Stiles have accepted their husband for who he is and do their best to be accommodating and patient when the rare appearance of repressed emotions occurs.

“And I thought Peter was going to die with you,” Chris finishes, his tone shaking and raw. “I thought I was going to be alone because of a decision I made...because of something I let happen.”

Stiles reaches out, pulls his brave, beautiful husband to him, and lets the man cry into his shoulder while he strokes his hair. “I would never let that happen,” he whispers, pressing kisses to the hunter's temple. “Not ever. I promise.” Chris takes a few deep, heaving gulps of air before lifting himself away from the younger man. Stiles wipes the tears from Chris's face. “We made this decision together. And we're going to _keep_ doing this amazing, scary, wonderful thing—together.”

The hunter sighs and gives the young man a withering look. “I'm not entirely sure how on-board I am with this plan anymore—not with what just happened.”

Stiles squeezes his husband's hand and smiles. “Babe, I love you. Like, so much. But I didn't do this to myself so you could have second thoughts.” His smile fades, and he turns a serious gaze on both men. “Now, we are going to go home, and I am going to sleep for a week. Maybe two. Because I am completely exhausted. And then you both are going to fuck my brains out and put some babies in me. Alright?”

Peter and Chris chuckle, and the hunter wipes the rest of the tears from his face. 

“How about we focus on one thing at a time, sweetheart,” the werewolf says, brushing the backs of his fingers along Stiles's cheek. “We're going to make sure you're healthy enough to leave. Then we'll talk about taking you home.” 

Stiles nods, his head falling back against the pillow he'd brought with him as his eyelids become heavy. “Okay,” he yawns, attempting to lift a hand to his mouth but unable to find the strength. “Love you guys.”

“Love you, too.”

“Love you so much, baby. Go to sleep.”

Stiles does. And this time he dreams of two beautiful children; a little boy with Chris's infuriating smirk, and a little girl with Peter's brilliant eyes that glow yellow under the moonlight. 

He can't wait for the chance to know them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are so amazing. Thank you so much for reading the crazy things the pop into my head. Honestly, where would I be without you?
> 
> I can't wait to start on the next part!! I don't know, for sure, how many there will be. Hopefully SO SO MANY!! I'm sure there are endless shenanigans that our boys (and their lil babes) will get themselves caught up in.
> 
> Thank you, my friend!! Have an amazing day!! You deserve it!!  
> Stay healthy and safe!!


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